


Heffalumps and Woozels

by CelestiaICutie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Horror, Canon-Typical fear entities, Fairy Tale Retellings, Horror, almost all of the fears (hopefully), but make it tma statements, elias is there if you squint, graphic description of gore, i'm formatting this like an actual transcript, it's mainly characters that aren't canon and expys of fairytale characters, no beta we die like archive assistants, pun names are a given, set during season one because i said so, trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26156914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestiaICutie/pseuds/CelestiaICutie
Summary: Jonathan Sims, the head archivist of the illustrious Magnus Institute, is not one to be surprised.That changes when a box of statements he's never seen before appears mysteriously on his desk, formatted exactly the way regular written statements are supposed to be.There's something startlingly familiar about these statements, however.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Heffalumps and Woozels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS (not in any particular order):  
> Familial abuse (physical and emotional), physical violence, death of a child, death of a family member, cannibalism, brief description of decapitation, matricide (step-matricide?), graphic depiction of injury, gory transformation sequence.

[CLICK]

**ARCHIVIST**

Are you sure that these aren't fake?

**MARTIN**

If they were, they wouldn't have been on Elias's desk this morning. He says they're legitimate statements.

[QUIET SHUFFLING OF PAPERS]

**ARCHIVIST**

Right. 

**MARTIN**

_[Nervous tone]_ He also told me that they should be addressed as soon as possible. He seemed pretty shook up about it, too.

**ARCHIVIST**

...

 _[Audibly stunned]_ Oh. Well.

**MARTIN**

Yeah. I'll, uh... I'll leave you to it.

[MARTIN HASTILY LEAVES THE OFFICE]

[ARCHIVIST LETS OUT A DEEP, LONG-SUFFERING SIGH]  
[SOUND OF PAPERS SHUFFLING]

**ARCHIVIST**

I suppose I should start with this one.

Statement of Marlene Zimmermann, regarding the death of her brother and the events that followed. Original statement given April 10, 1990. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

**ARCHVIST (STATEMENT)**

I had a very good home life. I can't say the same for my stepbrother. Don't get me wrong, my mum was very kind to me, and my dad is the same way. Dad worked a lot, but he always made time for us, and we always had enough money to keep us afloat. But when dad was gone, mum changed. She said horrible things to my brother, beat him constantly, and made him lie to us about whatever happened to him. I hate that I didn't speak up earlier, but I was scared that it would happen to me next. I wish I spoke up before he died. Life would've been so much easier.

Dad told me about his mum when I was very young. She was very sick when she had Sylvester, and she wanted to be buried under our juniper tree when she died. She made wishes by that tree, and dad said her last wish came true when Sylvester was born. She had wished for a child with hair as red as blood and eyes as blue as the berries on the tree. Every time dad told me about her, his eyes would get misty, and he would look towards the tree. Mum hated the tree. She hated Sylvester's mom. But she couldn't get angry at a tree or a pile of bones, so she took it out on Sylvester. He only got relief when he went to school, and cried himself to sleep every night. I cried with him when mum wasn't watching me. One day, I saw her hit him with a broom, and he started to cry. When mum saw me, she led me away and told me to keep it a secret. I tried to ask her why she was hitting him, but she didn't let me finish. She told me that if I stayed quiet, dad wouldn't kick us out. If he kicked us out, I'd lose my inheritance. I didn't want to lose dad, so I stayed quiet.

I never cared about money. She was the only one who wanted dad's money, and she was being cruel to assure that she got it. I hated that someone so mean could be my mother.

One day, Sylvester was very quiet. Usually, he was only quiet when he sat by the juniper tree. He liked to "talk" to his mum, but he only did it in his head so my mum wouldn't yell at him. I went to look for him, but when he wasn't by the tree, I became, understandably, worried. After an hour of fretting over him, I asked mum if she knew where he was. She told me that Sylvester was hiding in the backyard, and he had taken a gift that she was going to give to me. She didn't want to go and bring him back inside, as she was preparing a meal for when dad returned home. So, she sent me out to fetch him. He was sitting in a chair facing the fence when I found him. My hair stood on end when I got closer to him, but I worked up the nerve to shake his shoulder. When he didn't respond, I shook his shoulder more firmly.

That's when his head fell off. A cloth had been wrapped around his throat, and it unraveled when I shook him. The wound where his neck used to be was still dripping blood. His head landed in his lap, knocking off something that rolled to my feet. It was a bright red apple.

Mum heard me scream and brought me inside, and told me to stay in my room until dad came home. She gave me a fresh apple to eat while I waited, but I had completely lost my appetite. I couldn't stop crying. I remember thinking that the police would come, but I didn't hear a single siren for hours. I smelled something like meat cooking from the kitchen. It made my stomach churn for some reason. Dad came home late, and when I came out, mum was handing him a plate of food. I ran to the backyard, hoping that what I saw was just a dream, but what I saw made my heart sink. Sylvester wasn't there, but the chair was still sitting in front of the fence. I could still see blood on the chair.

I turned to tell dad, but mum gave me a horrible glare when I opened my mouth. So, I stayed silent during our meal. I barely touched my food the whole time. My head was spinning with the knowledge that something happened to Sylvester, and just looking at the small segment of ribs in front of me made me feel ill. Mum made small talk with dad the whole time, and dad kept talking about how good the food tasted in between conversations. Not once did I hear her mention my brother, and dad never asked. When he mentioned how he had never tasted such delicious meat before and asked her what she did differently, I felt my blood run cold. Mum never changed her recipes. Nothing would have tasted different if she made ribs the way she usually did. My mind reeled, and I swallowed down my terror as I picked up my knife. I slowly cut through the rib, shuddering at how smoothly the blade went through the muscle. I carved the meat away from the rib, my hand shaking uncontrollably as I pulled out a single bone.

A nagging voice in the back of my head told me that this was a human rib. Sylvester's rib. I have no idea what gave me that idea, but I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't confirm or deny the thought. If this was his rib, I knew what I had to do. Sylvester always told me that if he had died, he wanted to be buried with his mother under the juniper tree. Even if this wasn't all of what remained of my brother, I would still fulfill his wishes. It was the least I could do with mum still around.

Dad asked me why I wasn't eating, which shook me out of my thoughts. I felt mum's eyes train on me, and I told them that I had lost my appetite. Dad believed me and told me that I could go play, pausing for a minute before turning to his second wife. As I walked out the front door, eyes trained on the tree, I heard him ask where his son went. I felt tears begin to blur my vision, knowing that she would feed him lies, but continued on my way. I dug a hole at the very base of the tree, dirt caking under my fingernails as I fought back my sadness. I placed the bone in the pit as gently as I could, returning the displaced dirt to its former place. I cried for quite a while afterwards. My own mother had killed an innocent boy, and I had to stay silent to maintain a semblance of safety.

When my tears began to dry, I turned to the tree, and a sense of silent understanding washed over me. I placed my hand on a branch, praying for my brother to find peace... wherever he was now.

Mum said that Sylvester had ran off. Dad believed her, and my blood boiled every time I heard him praising her for taking the situation so well. He had contacted the authorities about the disappearance, and for the next month or so, I grew to learn the names and faces of everyone working on the case. They treated me like a baby every time they asked me questions. As the days flew by, I grew more desperate to reveal the truth, but my mum made sure I never spoke up when anyone else was around.

Eventually, I turned back to the tree. I prayed for the truth to be revealed, hoping that the juniper tree would make my words come true. If it could grant wishes to give life, who's to say it couldn't take life away? As I whispered to the tree, I felt the leaves and branches around me distend and brush against my skin. A bird chirped above me, but I barely processed it at the time. When I pulled away, I looked up to see a large robin perched directly above my head. It chirped once again, not seeming phased by how close I was. It leapt off the branch and soared away, and a moment later, my mother called me inside. I wanted to stay and see if the bird would return, but I feared the wrath of my mum, so I begrudgingly returned indoors.

Hours later, there was a loud thunk against the front door. It surprised me, seeing as my father had already gotten home and we weren't expecting guests. Furthermore, it wasn't like a knock, more like something bumping into the door for a moment. Regardless, I got up and opened the door to see that no one was there. However, on our doormat was a pair of red sneakers and a pocketwatch with a golden chain. I picked the items up gingerly, expecting something unpleasant, but nothing happened. When I brought the gifts inside, dad asked me where I got the items. After explaining what I knew, he picked up the pocketwatch and inspected the chain for a moment. He asked me if he could look at the metalwork in more detail, since he was skeptical of the chain being made of authentic gold. I didn't mind, and let him bring the pocketwatch to his study.

I went to the living room to try on the shoes, and found that they were a perfect fit for me. As I walked around, trying to break in the new shoes, I heard my mum call my name from outside. She sounded upset, which made me feel a nagging sense of worry. I walked out the front door to see her standing by the juniper tree, something pale in her clenched fist. Her expression was stern, but her eyes shone with concealed rage. I froze when I saw what she held. The bone had been dug up, and was currently in her shaking grip. Her knuckles were white, and if she clenched her fist any more, she would've drawn blood with her nails. She demanded that I come to her and explain what the bone was doing by the tree, but my body didn't move an inch. I felt like if I moved, something bad would happen to me. Her voice grew louder and more enraged as she began to stalk towards me, but her words seemed inaudible compared to the scraping noise I heard from the roof. The noise caught her attention as well, and we both looked up to see something tip over the edge of the roof.

Time seemed to slow down in that moment. A concrete brick had begun to plummet to the ground, and I had the fleeting thought that it wasn't there moments prior. My eyes fell back down to my mother, who watched in terror as the brick grew closer and closer.

The impact shocked me back to reality. The sickening crunch of bone caving in made my stomach churn, and a splatter of blood coated the siding of the house before her body caught up with the momentum of the brick. Her head hit the ground, and looked away just in time to avoid seeing her brain matter coat the grass as the brick fully landed. A neighbor shrieked as she saw the carnage, and I soon heard my father rush to my side. His voice broke as he screamed, and the next few minutes went by in a blur. Dad rushed me inside, placed me on the couch, and phoned the police as soon as he could. My mother's body was carted away as I tried to process the situation. Our neighbors explained all that they saw, and a paramedic helped me process what I had seen before everything settled once again.

Eventually, I worked up the nerve to go to the tree again. I don't know what possessed me to return, but I knew I had to. When I arrived, I moved to touch the bark of the tree, and recoiled at the touch of something warm and slick under my fingertips. I pulled my hand back to see blood, and bile rose in my throat. Before I could run back inside to wash the blood away, I heard a series of cracks and creaks from the backyard.

Against my better judgement, I went to see where the sound was coming from. What I saw terrifies me to this day.

The robin was lying on the grass, but it looked distorted and sickly. It writhed and let out small cries that sounded more like a human's sobs than anything a bird should make. Right before my eyes, I watched its chest swell and distort, before the horrible sound of flesh tearing filled my ears. A chasm formed in the bird's chest, and a finger slowly inched its way out of the torn flesh. The bird seemed to swell and grow in size to accommodate whatever was inside of it, and soon, a hand burst out of the wound. As I watched the hand, my stomach twisted in on itself, and I had to look away before it became too much for me to handle. The noises only increased in volume, and when i looked back, an entire arm had grown out of the carcass. The bird itself had grown to the size of a small child, a feat which my brain can barely process even years later. Gore splattered over the grass, but I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away as the arm began to pull a body out of the carcass.

My horror turned to shock when I saw Sylvester's head emerge, gasping for air and very much alive. My body and mind fought with each other over whether to bring our father out to see that his son was still alive, or to rush to his side and help him escape. Eventually, I came to a decision and bolted to the door, rushing inside as fast as I could. I called out for my father, shocking him out of a stupor before I began to yank him towards the backyard. I tried to explain what I saw, but I kept stumbling over my words. As I yanked him to the yard, I turned to see a completely different scene in front of me. Sylvester was lying face-down on the grass, clothes tattered and worn, but completely bloodless. The bird carcass was nowhere to be seen. Dad rushed towards him and mumbled silent prayers and thanks to whatever brought his son home. Sylvester's breathing was shallow, but he was alive.

I've never told anyone what I saw on that day. Well, until now. I just hope that this doesn't sound too far-fetched, but this story could potentially get me institutionalized anywhere else.

  
**ARCHIVIST**

Statement ends.

 _[Hesitant tone]_ I am... unsure of how I should handle this statement.

Despite being given twenty-six years ago, there is no documentation of any further investigation, or any documents of any sort, for that matter. I will have to send someone to meet with Marlene, or at least investigate on the Zimmermann family. I just hope that this isn't some practical joke.

But... I have the strangest feeling that I've heard a story similar to this statement.

...

End recording.

[CLICK]


End file.
